


The Last Good Day

by ashisverymuchonfire



Category: Bandom, Pierce the Veil, Sleeping With Sirens
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Sickfic, kellic - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:52:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4039447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisverymuchonfire/pseuds/ashisverymuchonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing Kellin and Vic both know, it's this: Kellin is going to die soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Good Day

**Author's Note:**

> I watched The Fault in Our Stars and then this happened. you've been warned.

In approximately seventeen days, Kellin Quinn will be dead.  
  
That’s how long the doctors are giving him. They tried everything they could think of, desperate to find a miracle, but now they’ve given up. They’ve finally accepted that there will be no miracle, and they’re giving him until the end of the month. It’s Saturday, June 14 today.  
  
Up until that point, I think we were all stupidly optimistic, to a certain extent—me, Kellin, Kellin’s dad, even my own parents. Deep down, we all hoped that if the doctors didn’t give up, they’d make something beautiful happen. They’ve done so many things to Kellin over the years that it seemed like it had to be for something.  
  
But when the doctors run out of ideas, run out of tests and surgeries and procedures…that’s when you know things are going downhill.  
  
I’d been waiting for those words as long as I’d known him—“There’s nothing more we can do”—dreading them, accepting that they’d have to come eventually. And they did. They held off for seven of Kellin’s seventeen years, trying to give him as many of those as possible, but they still came.  
  
Today, Kellin calls me and asks me to come over to his house. Of course I tell him that I will, but when I head downstairs with the keys to my car, my parents stop me.  
  
"I’m afraid you’re not going to see him, Vic," Mom says, standing between me and the front door. We all know who "him" is.  
  
"What? Why not?"  
  
Dad makes his way over to us. “We think this is affecting you too much,” he explains. “You have to take care of yourself, too, you know.”  
  
"I know," I reply. "But I’m probably going to live until I’m at least sixty-something, and Kellin won’t even make it to July unless he’s lucky. I mean, come on. Dad, if Mom was dying, Lord knows you’d be by her side every waking moment. And vice versa."  
  
My parents exchange glances. They know I’m right about that.  
  
"Vic," Mom says. She sounds like she’s about to argue with me, but then she just sighs, looking pained. "Okay."  
  
She doesn’t have to say anything else. I’m out the door in seconds.  
  
It’s raining, and that, of course, makes me remember something about Kellin. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. This time, I remember when we took a trip up to New York City, and it stormed on the drive back home. There were huge bolts of lightning and cracks of thunder that seemed really close by—it was at night, too—but instead of panicking, Kellin took a video of it with his phone and made hilarious commentary the whole time.  
  
Kellin’s dad isn’t surprised to see me. He waves halfheartedly from the front doorway as I hop out of the car and head inside. “Hey, Vic,” he says. “Kellin’s upstairs.”  
  
I kick my shoes off right inside the door. “Okay.”  
  
I make my way up to Kellin’s room, and sure enough, there he is, lying on his bed with his hair falling into his face. “Hi, Vic,” he says softly.  
  
It hurts just to look at him, but I try not to think about that.  
  
"Hi, Kell."  
  
I sit down on the side of his bed, taking his hand. “How’s everything going?”  
  
"Well, besides the terminal illness, I’d say things are going pretty good." He gives me a little smile.  
  
I smile back at him. “Well, that’s good.”  
  
I lean forward and kiss him on the lips. Then I crawl up onto the bed with him, wrapping one arm around him, still holding his hand with the other one. He rests his head on my shoulder, sighing and closing his eyes. “I wish I wasn’t so tired,” he says.  
  
"That’s okay," I tell him. "We don’t have to do anything."  
  
"But I’m  _dying_. I should be doing things. But I  _can’t_.” His voice cracks, his grip on my hand tightening.  
  
I kiss him on the forehead, running my fingers through his hair. “I know,” I say, my own voice starting to betray me. “It’s not fair. I know.”  
  
His breathing slows down as I rest the hand I’m holding on my chest. “I love you, Vic,” he murmurs, sounding half-asleep.  
  
I try not to think about what it’ll be like when I lose him. “I love you, too,” I whisper.  
  
He does fall asleep after that, which is normal. He sleeps all day now, but he somehow still has bags under his eyes and never seems any less tired. But I’m tired, too—I stayed awake most of last night—so I end up falling asleep with him.  
  
The reason I was awake last night is because yesterday was not a good day. Kellin kept throwing up, his head was pounding, and he was nearly hysterical. That happens a lot, so he just took some more medication and hoped that everything would slow down. Sure enough, it did, but we were all drained afterwards. Kellin locked himself in his room and refused to let anyone come in. Later in the night, after I left, he showed up crying on my doorstep—I’m still amazed at the fact that he could even stand up after what happened, let alone drive a car the whole way to my house without crashing. He cried in my arms, waking up both my parents, telling me about how much he loves me and how much he hates everything else and how he’s sorry he’s going to have to leave me soon and how sometimes he wishes he would just die already so he didn’t have to keep waiting and waiting and waiting. My parents called his dad, who was in an absolute panic, to let him know that Kellin was at our house, and then I drove him back. He fell asleep on the way over, so I carried him inside, and by the time I got back to my own house, I was so exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep because I was still recovering from the whole day.  
  
Needless to say, I like how today is going much better.  
  
When I wake up, Kellin is still asleep. After a few minutes, his dad appears at the doorway. “Is he asleep?” he asks, pointing to Kellin, and I nod.  
  
Mr. Bostwick steps into the room. People always say that he looks sort of intimidating, but I don’t think so. Then again, I spend a lot of time around him, so maybe I’m just used to it. But Kellin’s father really isn’t a bad guy; he’s just quiet and serious most of the time, and I don’t blame him for being that way. His wife, Kellin’s mom, died a few years ago, and now he’s losing his only son, too. I wouldn’t exactly be the epitome of joy, either, if I was in his place.  
  
"Kellin said something today," Mr. Bostwick says. "Made a joke about yesterday. He said the reason for…y’know, everything…he said it was probably because yesterday was not only Friday the 13, but also the night of a full moon. Which apparently isn’t supposed to happen again for another few decades."  
  
I glance at Kellin, smiling a little. “How’d he know  _that_?”  
  
Mr. Bostwick shrugs. “He knows a bunch of random things nobody else even thinks about. He’s like a walking encyclopedia sometimes.” He smiles back, staring at Kellin with affection, and let me tell you something: If that man does not love his son, then I’m an alien.  
  
"He deserves so much more than what he’s getting," I say, running my fingers through his hair again.  
  
Kellin’s dad nods grimly. “Listen, Vic,” he says, clearing his throat. “I just want to say thank you. For everything.”  
  
And when he says “everything”, I know he means  _everything_. He means  _Thank you for staying all these years._  He means  _Thank you for becoming a part of us._  
  
"You’re welcome," I say quietly. "For everything."  
  
—  
  
"Is it still raining?" Kellin asks. His eyes are still closed, but he’s awake now.  
  
I take a quick look out the window—it’s pouring outside. “Oh, it’s raining, alright.”  
  
A smile appears on his lips. “Good.”  
  
I narrow my eyes. “Why?”  
  
He rubs his eyes and pushes himself up into a sitting position. I do, too. “What is it?” I persist.  
  
"You know what I’ve always wanted to do?" Kellin says, looking almost starry-eyed.  
  
"What?"  
  
He smiles and slides off the bed, a bit unsteady, then takes my hand. Confused, I follow him out the door, down the stairs, and outside, into the downpour. I don’t mind it, though; I like the rain, and God knows Kellin loves it.  
  
"This," he says finally, and as we’re standing in the front yard, getting wetter by the second, he presses his lips to mine.  
  
I return the favor, and the next thing I know, I’m picking him up, and he’s wrapping his legs around my waist, and I’m holding him firmly as we kiss in the rain. He doesn’t care that he’s completely drenched, and I don’t, either.  
  
Kellin smiles and pulls away slightly, his breath hitching all over the place. He’s been having trouble breathing lately, so I say, “Do you want to stop? Do you need to catch your breath?”  
  
Kellin shakes his head, and I swear I can see his excited recklessness through the haze of his illness. “No, it’s okay,” he says. He kisses me again, and I find myself believing him:  _It’s okay._  
  
Today is a good day.  
  
—  
  
When I wake up the next morning, Mom is standing in the doorway of my bedroom with her cell phone in her hand. “Vic,” she says.  
  
I stare at the phone, my heart suddenly jumping out of my chest. I sit up, almost too afraid to speak. “What happened?”  
  
She takes a deep breath. “A lot of things happened to Kellin last night. Vomiting, headaches…and then he couldn’t breathe.”  
  
 _No. No, no, no._  
  
"He’s still alive," Mom adds. "But just barely. He’s in the hospital now."  
  
"But…" I can’t seem to find words. "They said he’d make it to the end of the month."  
  
I can see her blinking away tears. “Now he might not even make it to the end of the day.”  
  
I’ve told myself that I’ll be prepared for whenever it happens, but I know now that that’s a lie. I am not prepared for Kellin to leave.  
  
"No," I whisper.  
  
Mom nods. “I’m so sorry, Vic.”  
  
I remember when Kellin first told me about his sickness, and I started crying, thinking of all the scary hospital stories I’d ever heard and all the medical dramas I’d ever caught glimpses of on TV. Kellin reassured me that it was nothing to worry about, and I think back then he believed it, at least a little bit. That was when the future didn’t seem entirely bleak. As we grew older, though, I think we both started to understand.  
  
I remember when Kellin started to lose faith in the treatment. It was two full years before the doctors caught on, and I can picture the exact expression on his face when he said to me, “I’m gonna die soon, aren’t I?”  
  
And now “soon” is here.  
  
I jump up and grab my car keys. Then I push past my mom, out of the room and down the stairs. I rush out into the rain—the storm is still going strong—and start the car, a pain in my chest. I try to stay calm, but a strangled sob escapes me as I pull out of the driveway, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white.  
  
"Kellin," I gasp. "Don’t die. Please. I love you. Don’t die."  
  
Tears blur my vision, and I think I’m driving too fast judging by the way the car moves, but I don’t care. I’m too busy imagining Kellin on his deathbed, unable to breathe, and it hurts like hell. I knew it was coming, and now it’s here and I can’t stand it.  
  
 _He can’t die. He can’t._  
  
I remember when Kellin and I were around eleven years old and debated over what superpower we’d want to have, if we could only have one. Kellin didn’t want to fly or become invisible or any of that; he wanted to be immune to all disease. When I asked him why, he said, “Because I want to live as long as normal people do.”  
  
I can barely focus because of everything that’s happening. Maybe that’s why I don’t notice the other car until mine skids and slides right into it.  
  
—  
  
There’s pain everywhere. I can hear machines beeping and people talking, and I struggle to open my eyes and catch my breath, but I can’t.  
  
Everything hurts.  
  
Not only that, but there’s something—something tugging at me. Something trying to pull me down, like it’s trying to kill me.  
  
"Vic," voices are saying. "Vic, can you hear me?"  
  
I want to respond, but I can’t. I can barely even breathe, let alone speak.  
  
I feel lightheaded, too, like everything’s closing in on me. I feel like I’m going to black out or choke or suffocate. It feels like the end, and it hurts.  
  
Then one voice sticks out from all the others. It’s a voice I was afraid I’d never hear again.  
  
"Vic," he sobs. "Please, you have to wake up."  
  
 _Kellin._  
  
"I-I’m still alive," he says. "I’m in a wheelchair, see? They brought me over. I’m not gonna die today, Vic."  
  
I want to answer him more than anything, but it’s like I’m paralyzed. I can’t do anything but fight the darkness that’s dragging me under.  
  
"This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to keep on living."  
  
It’s becoming so much harder.  
  
"Please, Vic. I love you."  
  
 _I love you too, Kellin._  
  
"I was supposed to die first," he whispers, so soft I almost don’t understand him. "Not you." And those are the last words I ever hear.


End file.
